


Twentyfourseven

by heartisafist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartisafist/pseuds/heartisafist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael’s used to dealing with all kinds of late-night troublemakers thanks to working at an all-night diner in a small college town. He just winds up with more than he bargained for out of the only sober one in the bunch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twentyfourseven

**Author's Note:**

> This is G/PG ( for Lucifer's mouth ) for several chapters and will later move into a mature rating, for violence and adult content. Other characters tagged will eventually have a part.

When Michael left for college, he had every intention of supporting himself for the full four years he would be gone. The eldest of a large family, his departure would make things hard on all of them. He was the adult figure in the household, always there for his younger siblings in the absence of a father who worked too hard. Or worked just enough and drank too much. Either way, Michael’s younger sister, still a sophomore in high school, would take his place when he left.

He was worried about her already.

Relying on family contributions wasn’t an option for him where school was concerned. Were it not for scholarships earned through years of hard work and good grades, Michael would not have left home at all. When their father was between jobs or suffering a creative crisis, the smaller kids depended on him. In a way, he was going to college to help them more than himself.

Things weren’t that terrible at home when you took money out of the equation. The two older teenage girls looked after the three youngest boys when Michael wasn’t home. They helped pack lunches and shuffle the little group off to the bus stop every morning, read bedtime stories and checked in closets for monsters - especially for their smallest brother – when Michael wasn’t home to do it. It wasn’t exactly a typical arrangement, but it worked for them and they were all happy.

Jobs were hard to come by for adults though, making it even more difficult for Michael to find work while still in high school. No job was beneath him, whether it was working two minimum-wage part time positions or yard work during the summer. Whatever he could find, whoever would give him a chance, Michael would take it. He wasn’t about to watch his family struggle again the way they had the first time Mr. Novak lost his job.

In retrospect, Michael could have given himself a little room to try for higher paying jobs in more respectable establishments once he moved on to college. The college town itself was small but catered to the student population with a number of all-night restaurants and shops, and – of course – bars everywhere. A week into his first semester, Michael stopped into the first diner with a ‘Now Hiring’ sign and was hired on the spot.

A year later, as he stood behind the counter and watched a table of drunks building some kind of structure out of everything on the table including their coffee cups, Michael was really wishing he’d tried for one of the stores in the mall. Maybe waiting tables at an Applebees. Anything would have been better than here.

The boys at the table looked up as he approached, pausing in their construction efforts. Despite having not touched the menus Michael laid down for them, all four of the boys knew what they wanted and managed to slur out their orders. Just as Michael was turning back to the kitchen, the blond in the corner – coffee and waffles, and could he bring extra sugar by the table because they were out over here – piped up.

“Hey. You didn’t even write it down. You gonna remember all four of our orders without even writing shit down?”

For whatever reason, this was a cue for the other three to laugh and join in on ribbing Michael just for not having his notepad on him. Michael shrugged, a brow rising when he glanced back at the only sober man at the table. Now that he was really looking, Michael recognized the kid – he was in here at least once or twice a week with the same, sometimes larger crowd. Pale blue eyes, disheveled blond hair, and always in that same leather jacket. But aside from ordering his food, this was the first time he’d spoken to Michael at all.

Michael reached into the front pocket of his apron and pulled out the few extra sugar packets he had, laying them on the table. “I don’t need to write it down. Your orders aren’t exactly complex.”

The blond matched his expression with an arched brow but said nothing more, letting his buddies crow laughter. And why was that so funny in the first place? Waiting tables wasn’t hard. After a year of it, Michael really didn’t need to write things down anymore.

One of the boys on the other side of the table snorted laughter. “He’s a professh’nal waiter, Luce. He doesn’t gotta write th’shit down. He’s a career man.”

To his credit, Michael did remember their exact orders and delivered everything not too long after. Luce – according to his friend – said nothing else except for muttering thanks. The other boys weren’t much trouble either, aside from continuously asking for sugar packets. 

But that didn’t mean the boys weren’t noisy. They were loud enough that the line chef poked his head out of the kitchen a few times just to check on things. 

It wasn’t necessary tonight, but sometimes Michael was thankful he had the backup when he needed it. There had been more than a few nights where Richie had to help strong-arm drunks out the front door. Thankfully, even some of the most belligerent assholes settled down when they caught sight of the 6’2” former weightlifter wielding a greasy spatula like a baseball bat.

Luce and his friends stayed for another half hour after Michael had cleared their plates, their boisterous noise level tapering off into occasional snickers and furtive glances in Michael’s direction. It wasn’t until they took off and Michael went to wipe down that table that he saw why. It seemed that every single sugar packet he’d delivered had been used to draw on the table, most of the sugar stuck in the pooled condensation from their glasses. A giant smiley face dominated the mess, tip money piled in the middle above its crooked grin. Then , of course, there were assorted dicks and a fairly large pair of breasts under the smiley face.

Michael heaved a long-suffering sigh, rolled his eyes, and collected the admittedly impressive amount of tip money so he could clean the table off. At least it was a smiley face instead of a frowny one. That meant customer satisfaction, didn’t it?

…it was going to be one hell of a long night.


End file.
